Gratitude

Mike trying to look like Jasper! In't he cute?!

Mr. Cool!

The breathtaking organ at The Cathedral of Saints Peter & Paul where the Civic Chorale performed.

K. Sutherland, 5 ... M. Sutherland, 15 ... I never realized when I proposed this blog to be a family project that it would turn into something of a competition. (Not that Michael sees it that way.) But quite obviously from my perspective, I'm gettin' my butt whooped here! So, here's my attempt to catch up ...

Since Michael has already reported on our recent trip to Maine, and my lesson today in oil based paint, it's only suiting that I note the day in between. Yesterday, was probably one of the most enjoyable days in recent weeks, at least for me anyway. Michael and I started off the day with our obligatory coffee and internet session on the couch until we motivated each other to get to the gym before noon. (On our way home from Maine the day before Michael remembered that the wedding of his long time friend, Allison, was this Saturday and we had been planning to attend.) The work out felt especially good after having not been to the gym in nearly 3 days and indulging quite a bit while out of town. Not to mention just a great way to start the day! After hitting the shower and getting spiffed up for the wedding ceremony, we headed off to the church in Cranston.

Attending a wedding as a newly married couple ourselves proved to be a nice reminder of our own love, and the vows we made to one another only a few months ago. Although Mike and I are still discovering what makes each other tick, we've both learned quite a bit about the other in a very short time, often making it feel as though we've been married much longer than we actually have. Witnessing Allison and Richard's ceremony caused me to reflect on our own and all the events leading up to it. My courtship to Michael, as most of you know, was exceptionally romantic, rapid, and intense not unlike an on-screen love affair! With the onset of reality, things have of course settled down now, we've come to develop routines around or with each other, and needless to say, share nearly all our emotions (even the not so pretty ones). The wedding yesterday enabled flashbacks of our whirlwind romance to frolic around in my mind a while leaving me feeling emotionally refreshed!

We continued to enjoy the bright, summer like day by riding home with the top down in the Z, promptly changing into some scrubs, and heading back out to the local beach for a picnic lunch! We chatted briefly between bites of sandwich, but mostly just sat side by side enjoying the warm shade, gentle breeze, and the comfort of companionship. Clearly Michael continues to be stressed over not being able to find work, despite his gallant efforts ... but it's moments like that, that I cherish most. And although I find myself getting slightly more anxious too these days, I am so deeply grateful for every moment ... even those in silence, that we share together!

That evening as I watched Michael perform with the Rhode Island Civic Chorale this gratitude I'd been feeling all day began to overwhelm me. The music trickled into my ears, and down my spine, pulsing out through each finger and toe. My gaze fixated on the man I've come to see in so many different lights, as the precious life we created danced inside me. The reality of how drastically everything has changed in less than a year sank ever more deeply with each note. The fears Michael and I face these days suddenly became so minuscule in comparison to that life I left behind. Money, was the only comfort I had a year ago, however in lacking amongst all other aspects of life, simply made it impossible to enjoy. The priceless value of being surround by family, supported by your partner, and creating new life as a result of love is what sets my mind at ease now, because without those things life just isn't worth living ... and with them, not much else matters!

Paint

Really now, how was I supposed to know oil paint didn't come off with soap and water?! Geez!

At least EJ  and I had fun in the process! :-P

It's been difficult lately to separate anxiety from everything else I do. After applying for rafts of jobs, and following up fairly aggressively on any local contacts, there are periods when I just have to wait for something to happen--a contact to reach back out to me, a document in the mail, something of that sort. And now that we're getting down to crunch time fiscally, with the timing of the dock sale looming increasingly largely, I'm letting my frustration show more consistently. Like this afternoon. Though it takes a bit of telling to get there.

Kate continues to make progress on the nursery. I've now figured out where to put the remaining bookcase, which will leave only the piano and the filing cabinet. The piano could be a good thing for that room, with a little bit of music being good for the child. And the filing cabinet is benign enough, tucked in a corner...it just can't be black any more. However metal and brutal this baby might be--and we fear no art or music, from death metal to baroque to new age--having a big hulking black object squatting in the corner of the room isn't much of an option. We both like bright colors. Sure, the occasional red-eyed leering skull or set of crossed daggers is a neat accent, but straight black gets kind of monotonous, you know? Like listening to nothing but requiems, or reading nothing but Poe, for the rest of your life.

So we set about to paint the thing. Got some flat white Rust-Oleum last week, and a little sanding brick to roughen up the finish. Today, rather than take off somewhere around the Bay for a few hours, Katie wanted to stay in and take out her energies on the cabinet. So I sullenly got off my rear end and removed the hardware from the drawer fronts, and then helped her finish the sanding. And once I cleared out, she got to woik. And woik she did.

About an hour later, she called down, "Honey...I did something stupid." Wondering what she'd spilled paint all over, I walked upstairs with some trepidation...and saw her glove-white hands. Both of them, covered in white, from the wrists to the fingertips. "I tried to rinse the brush off, and, well..." she began.

I suddenly felt foolish for not having thought to explain to her the difference between water-based and oil-based paints, but...we all have our specialties in life. I guess I've done a lot more painting and remodeling in mine. So...water sure didn't work. Ivory soap didn't work. We didn't have any paint thinner, so I headed out (after lounging in front of the TV for a while) to get some. (Faxed off the app to the Alaska-based survey co. en route). I got back and gave her the can, and she went outside with a rag to dab off her hands.

Five minutes later Kate was back inside, asking me to open it. I tried. And tried. I squeezed the cap. I pressed down on the cap. I squeezed and pressed down on the cap, so hard that I was starting to bend the top of the can. It was worse than the drug bottles, the adult-proof kids-only openers. As I searched for a plumbers' wrench, growing more profane by the moment, Katie grew quieter and somewhat meeker. I think she realized larger forces were at work here than mere irritation at a bottle top.

The cat walked across the counter to inquire, and I dropped him roughly on the floor, nearly upsetting Kate's gift teacup and saucer. I tossed the jackets out of the closet digging (in futility) for my toolbox, safely buried behind several crates of books. Nearing rage, I found a screwdriver, popped the cap off, and handed it to Kate with an expletive.

For every reason, I need to get a job soon.

Mysterious

Keyzer hard at work!

This entry will take a little while to get around to the title.

Kate and I returned from Maine yesterday afternoon, having spent about two days up there for her grandmother Eleanor's (father's side) funeral. Gram, as I was coming to know her, made it to about six weeks shy of her 99th birthday. That's really a cause for celebration, in my mind. If the person was healthy and active for nearly a full century, it's a joyful thing. I met her about two weeks ago, over Mothers' Day weekend. She was frail, of course, and it was hard to hear her much more than six feet away, and it seemed to take her five or ten minutes even to recognize Kate. Her voice was a bit like how ancient Greeks describe old mens': a gently chirping grasshopper, audible only as a murmer until you draw very close.

After she'd looked at our wedding photos, and seemed reminded of many of the people there, she took a more active role in the conversation. By the time we left--a little over a half-hour later--she was saying she wanted to save her nice new pajamas for the upcoming wedding (whose it wasn't clear), and she was starting to plan a dance, where she'd invite a lot of men. "Come back soon," she said as I was leaving.

Not many spoke at the funeral--she'd outlived all her original friends, of course, and many of the family were shy, but the few stories were good. (Eleanor's oldest son, Kate's uncle Bob, even read one of her love letters to her future husband. The passage where young Eleanor ran herself down as having been "hateful and unreasonable" the night before brought the house down. I can only wonder what they'd been fighting about.) So I decided to share my little story, a tiny fragment but with much in common with the rest.

Before Thursday's funeral I'd met only a handful of the Gardner clan, and now I met the rest. Like any family, of several generations, with a range of personalities from sparkling to withdrawn. It was a good way to escape the ongoing anxieities of life in Rhode Island.

Kate and I had spent the night before at her father's house, and the most unusual thing I found was Steve's cat Norton. Steve's a boarder, a family friend, and he'd cleared out to make room for my wife and me. But Norton hadn't, so he expected life to carry on as before. Since the other cats of the household don't like him, he stays in Steve's room and makes his entrance and exits from the house through the window. This means you have to let him out when he sits in front of it staring back at you, and it means you have to let him in, too. But he has a unique way of asking in. The window's about three feet above the ground, so Norton leaps up, hangs onto the sill with his claws, and headbutts the window until you open it, at which point he clambers in and then mills around the way cats do. That amused me, but we made it a tough night for poor Norton. He tried about four or five times to settle down on the double bed with us, and eventually gave up and slept on the floor.

One other thing struck me about our visit: I'd brought along a somewhat wonkish book on biblical history, on the writing of the New Testament. Kate's father asked me what it was, and I explained to him about my interest in the Old Testament especially, and about the documentary hypothesis. I was going into such things as the J and E texts, when he re-emerged from his office with a stack of about five books on biblical and religious history. He didn't say much, but desposited them on my lap. I looked them over, chose one, and thanked him. Not the kind of reading list I'd ordinarily expect to find in a person!

Anyhow, we spent the next night at Kate's mother's place, which was in somewhat of an uproar because they were frustratedly waiting for a delayed closing of the house they wanted to buy (which has finally happened). So we spent the night on a futon mattress on the floor, and I slept as peacefully as I can remember. Well...and there was Kaiser. Kaiser's a five- or six-year-old Weimarauner, a big sleek hound dog, about the size of a small Great Dane, who's very friendly and roughly as intelligent as your neighborhood golden retriever. Sit down in the living room, and Kaiser's very likely to come over and introduce himself by standing in front of you, with his head over your legs, staring blankly into your face. Tell him to "lie down" and he might sit, but otherwise will continue staring you in the eyes, with not a hint of comprehension. You pretty much have to wait for him to get bored--which takes a while--and lie down on his own.

Harmless dog, sweet disposition, makes not a sound. But the pinnacle of canine intelligence he sure ain't. Actually, no. Harmless...not so much. Kaiser's not violent. Doesn't bark or bear his teeth, and the few times I've been around him never seen even a small flare of aggression (he even woke Kate up early Friday morning by licking her in the face, something she'd rather forget). But harmless...that was the wrong word. Dogs are known for their gas production, and Kaiser is very much a dog. Yup, he can give Senor Disgusto over here a good run for my money in the domestic offensiveness department. It's times like that I prefer cats.

All in all, two good days of rest from being reminded every moment of my concerns down here. Trips, even small ones, can be cathartic that way. So we drove back down in the rain yesterday, and North Kingstown had that damp, warm feeling of incipient summer when we arrived. I do have a few job prospects still, and the sale of the dock is moving ahead, albeit slowly. But prospects aren't income, and the down payment is not yet in the bank. So life now is still mostly worry.

The mystery? A small thing...Jasper has three dishes: one for hard food, on the right, one for water in the middle, and one for canned food, on the left, which we fill every evening. On any given day, you can see one, and only one, piece of hard food in his water. Think it's there by chance? I might remove it, and a few hours later, there's another. There are never two or more, only one. And it always reappears after I remove one. So the cat seems to be deliberately placing a piece of hard food in his water...why? Flavor? Superstition? I just don't know. It's mysterious...

Ferocity

Beware...

One of the things I love most about Katie is her intensity. She can't hide it, and doesn't even want to try. Of all the baby photos of her I've seen, my favorite by a long way is of her at perhaps one or two, seated in a high chair, bottle in her hands, the very same look of focused anxiety in her brows which she gets now. I watch her drink some juice after her morning prenatal vitamin and my little bengal is wearing the same face as when she drank milk in a high chair.

Her frustration can surface volcanically. About a month ago we were walking out of the local police station, having registered the car. There was a small blossom tree out front, with some low-hanging branches. I walked by it, and a half-second later heard an enraged yelp. Turning around, there was Kate, fighting with the branches she'd somehow walked into. It didn't improve her mood that I laughed helplessly for the next five minutes, which led to her explaining that the cry was more from frustration than pain. All the funnier.

Tonight's been another lazy night, with dinner followed by a basketball game on TV (those Magic are looking pretty tough for the Cavs--and Katie's rooting for the Magic now, even though they eliminated the Celtics). I've gotten Katie to like Brussels sprouts, by boiling them well and then sauteeing them in garlic butter. MMMmmmm...anyway, so I'm sitting here placidly watching my game, while Kate was in the bathroom/laundry, working on a load of clothes. Suddenly, a scream. "RRrrrAAaawwrrrrr!" A few seconds, then... "*&%! me!"

She hadn't yelled again, and it didn't sound like pain. I approached the door slowly, not wanting to open it into her (it's a small room). She emerged, holding an armful of clothes, with a slightly sheepish look on her face.

"I did it again. I dropped another sock in the toilet."

Ah. No problem then...

(PS she's still steaming about it. "I can't believe I did that, twice. I'm going to close the toilet lid every time I go in there now." I'm really looking forward to this being an enduring record of us and our relationship, for our kids. You know?)

Insidious, Pernicious and Evil

Flowers. Avoid 'em if you can, don't let them creep into your life. I have kind of a generously-sized foofy side--I enjoy cartoons, talking nonsense to my cat (not Katie!), and I love flowers outside (the petals are kind of a mess to clean up inside, and they can get buggy). So we have no fewer than six hanging batches of flowers--five pots along the walkway, and one of those flower bags right on our front door, as well as a pot of bright-red daisies on our patio table. Each has flowers of a different color (kind of hard to find bright orange flowers that like full sun), and I take care to water them every day. I take real pride in having a rich bank of brightly-colored blooms to look at when I leave and come home, and to announce the Sutherland home to anyone who visits.

Enter my dear mother-in-law. She's happy and encouraging and ever-ready with a big smile...and she began furiously plucking off the aged blossoms from the hanging pots on Friday night when she and her husband Dave visited. "You should clip the dead blooms from these plants. Didn't you know that they'll keep on flowering all summer long, if you deadhead them?" as she solicitously kept snapping off the droopers.

Now I do take pride in my flowers. I fertilize them with my coffee grounds, water them twice on especially hot and dry days...so I couldn't just take this remark from my mother-in-law lying down. No, it was a challenge: get off your duff and treat those poor flowers with some respect, young man!

So now I'm helpless. Spent forty minutes, after eleven PM, on Saturday night pulling dead blossoms off all our plants. Spent ten more minutes this morning. Now, every single time I walk by, I'm looking not to admire the blooms...I'm looking for freaking deadheads.

Thanks, ma. Thank you very, very much. I'm glad for what you said.

(And I also know that you're comfortable enough with me, that you can clip your fingernails in my car and leave the clippings there...now that's family. And yes, you were right: I'd never have noticied if Katie hadn't told me.)

Fight Night

Cats are pretty noisy, especially when they get ticked off at each other. Now I've gotten two or three letters from the condo management company about Jasper. It is against the bylaws for animals to roam outside, though no one ever seemed to mind before we hired these guys. But now Jasper's being blamed for what other, less well-behaved animals are up to. Our cat is, to paraphrase my cousin Drew talking about his old dog Oye', better behaved than most children. The little guy's so timid and quiet it's almost frustrating sometimes--just ask Katie when he avoids her tummy-with-child by a mile or two. Anyway, one of the letters mentioned how Jasper has tried on repeated occasions to invade neighbors' units. Untrue that. That's our neighbor Warren's cat, Kittith (quite a name, huh?). That little animal barges right in your door if you're not careful. Somehow this got pinned on poor little ibbly.

So tonight we heard some frantic squeals outside. I was pretty sure the cat was in--I don't turn off the door light until he is--but we checked. He came blearily down the stairs when Katie whistled for him. So what was out there? I went out to see. Kittith, having spilled a bottle of beer from the neighbors' table--and some other mystery cat, another tuxedo no less, speeding away around the balcony. No big deal, I don't mind, except that I'm probably going to get another nasty letter, and maybe a fine, if this nonsense keeps up. Just because Jasper's popular, and a lot of the other owners know him.

Neighbors' kids can be problems enough, I suppose, and we'll have our share of dealing with things like that in years to come. But these cats are just plain ridiculous.

Two Sides to Every Story ...

First off I must make one correction ... Michael has yet to ruin my day, or spoil my mood. I'm perfectly capable of doing that to myself and too stubborn to let anyone else take the credit in doing so!

It was an emotional roller coaster kind of day though, most definitely. Spending the day shopping with my mom was as enjoyable as it was necessary for my own well being right now. Getting this nursery together has in a sense become like Michael's job hunt ... seemingly unattainable. Progress has been made in both aspects, however neither yet fully complete. As always, I was excited to come home to Michael (no matter what his mood), and today especially anxious to share all the marvelous blue and green nursery gems my mother and I had found! He seemed to like most all of it, and after a few moments of chit chat and snuggle, I convinced him to put up the new curtains we had bought. He suggested we look for an alternative way to hang the curtains though (from the ceiling I envisioned), so we took a quick trip to Home Depot. We chatted more in depth on the way there ... each day becoming ever more honest and blunt in our communication.

We came out of Home Depot empty handed and my physical fatigue from a long day of shopping crept into my emotions and the tears were becoming ever more difficult to hold back. Ultimately it came down to, "missing my mommy", feeling like Mike with his frustrations in the job search (only mine with the nursery), and again having the overwhelming feeling of missing my finely toned tummy (fearing the possibility of never having sex appeal again)! Had I not been so tired, and Mike not been so openly vulnerable in sharing his feelings, I might well have let all these little things slide as I do at times when they manage to creep back into my mind. Today it just all piled up though, and felt right to let my guard down. Strangely enough it was a comfort to have Michael admit to his sour feelings and the fact that he wallowed in them most of the day ... stepping in the nice warm bath water of wallow was exactly what I needed too I guess!

So don't let him fool you by saying he took all of his frustrations out on me, 'cause he never has, and will be shocked if he ever does. We are still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase of our relationship, but I continue to love what I discover in Michael. And today I found more than ever, that if we're both down, it's okay to stay there for a bit, commiserate, and finally rally each other back to our feet! It's so refreshing to have someone who works with you as opposed to against you, and even if they don't perceive the world the same way, can understand how you might. Uh oh, full of tears again ... damn hormones!

I think it's time for bed!

No Title Yet...

This has been my darkest day in quite some time. Bits of bad news or lack of feedback has added up steadily to push my anxiety to a degree that's left me slack and lethargic. That we won't be getting any more unemployment benefits; that there really was an e-mail miscommunication with one of my employment contacts, which may have set back my job search; that I'm still waiting to hear from my other prospects, going on one full week now; that I'm still waiting to hear back from my potential buyer for the dock: add all these up and my panic has been at moments overpowering.

Family can be a blessing at times like these, not only by offering help, but also by offering a love-filled distraction, even if for a few hours, or only a few minutes. Katie's mother and Dave drove down to visit last night (all the way from Maine!), treated us to dinner, and hung out for a few hours afterward. Kate's mom took her out to go baby shopping today (and it was good for her to get away from me for a spell), and Dave took our truck back with him to Maine--he's buying it from us, saving us from the monthly payments and insurance. Timely help indeed. Dave is understated in almost everything he does, but Katie's mom is so effusive and encouraging I always look forward to hearing from her. I need it at times like this, especially knowing that my own mother's loving support would have been more likely to come out in the form of blaming me for the mistakes I made to wind up unemployed and in this situation. (And that was my mother's style: she had nearly endless energy to actually do things and offer help, but that came at the cost of at times extremely harsh criticism. All the harsher for being given with love.)

So when Katie came home this afternoon, burdened with all the nursery decorations she'd bought with her mother, I wasted no time in trashing her mood and dragging her down to my level. Quietly, of course, I wasn't trying to be vicious or deliberately to spoil her day, but there was just no way my concentrated panic could fail to puncture Kate's good feelings. It took about an hour, after we'd gone to Home Depot looking for curtain rods, and I'd explained how badly things were going in my head, for the bottom to drop out of her day too.

I can hardly say I was satisfied. It's not like I need to take out all my frustrations on my wife. It's that we've been together for eight months--as she pointed out after dinner tonight, today is our eight-month-iversary--and as well as things have gone, we're still figuring each other out. Deeper traits now, subtler back-and-forths, but we still are in the getting-to-know-each-other phase of things. So stresses like this become our less amusing lessons about each other. She sees me shut down. And I see how fragile she can be.

A quick conversation with her mother this evening, calling from the road as she neared home, was a reminder of the mindset I'd be better off with--enjoy even this time, make use of it. And I've tried--delving back into history, or thinking wishfully, into electronics (which I might need at a job or two)--or back into my dissertation. But it's hard to stay focused on any one thing when my mind continually slides, like down the walls of a sandpit, back to my lack of a job, and my steadily mounting unpaid bills. Perhaps it's evidence of my lack of mental discipline, but I'm having trouble focusing on much of anything else these days. At least I am getting plenty of rest and relaxation.

So far Katie and I have always managed to reconnect after a breakdown. Tonight, it happened leading up to and during dinner (I had to take a few breaks during our conversation to tend the pizza). I won't detail our whole talk but I will say that this pregnancy thing is quite an emotional magnifier.

So we had dinner--I cut the pepperoni slices into quarters, so they're much more evenly distributed across the pizza--and then went to the North Kingstown beach. I instinctively avoided it for years, because I assume all beaches are overcrowded in the summertime. But it's not summer yet, and it's only a short walk away, quarter-mile strip of sand tucked between rocky headlands south of Wickford. That place is going to become a sanctuary for her...in fact, it already is. We shivered in the cool, slightly rainy breeze, sitting atop the lifeguard's chair in the afterglow of sunset. Gray clouds were spread over the sky, and a faint glow of sunlight, pink in places, shone through cracks in the cover. The breeze dropped and it seemed to grow warmer as we sat there, talking about mother earth and us parasites. As I kept going more and more scientific, Katie remarked, "I'm glad this kid is going to have the two of us, one for storytelling and the other for facts."

This has been a rambling, somewhat whiny post. I'm still feeling much of the fear which has kept me so wrapped up for the past day. We're not close to getting through this trouble yet. But a day like today is a good reminder of how we can rely on each other while we do.

Brute

Mike here.

Second post today, but you know.

So Kate was pretty incensed at Dr. Caron last week for suggesting she was vastly overweight or something--nine pounds gained in a month kind of surprised the frail-looking medicine woman. I noticed Katie's dismay immediately, so being the gallant kind of guy that I am, stepped up to her defense and felt her biceps. Taut as ever. That girl's gaining some muskles, I can tell you that.

So Kate mentioned this to the doc, who also examined her womb and didn't find a large amount of fat, so she backtracked somewhat from her initial disapproval. That moment seems to have been the tipping point for my little bengal, in terms of her overall opinion of Dr. Caron's judgment. Kate's now decided for a midwife.

A few minutes ago--we've been sitting on the couch together as I wait for a phone interview with a prospective employer--I took to joking with her about it again. I figure we can track just how buff this girl gets.

Too bad we didn't take a baseline measurement a few months ago, but for the record: Katie's right bicep, as of May 19, 2009, is 12.25" around.

Yah baby!

Sunlit Room

Mike here.

At the North Kingstown library, since it's a quiet place where I can get out of the condo for a while and read. The sunny, tree-filled view of the lagoon behind Wickford Village doesn't hurt either. I may turn this into my surrogate office for a while, since my grad office at URI feels a bit like a prison cell at times.

I don't like belaboring things, so I won't go into fears of joblessness again--I covered that well enough a few posts ago. I will add, that the cycle of optimisim-to-fear, and back again, isn't much fun. It's like the old saying with wood, that if it stays dry, or stays wet, it'll be fine--but rot sets in when it alternates between the two. Bouncing between fear and hope is much the most tiring, and even angering, aspect of looking for and not finding work (and even having a few legit prospects isn't much comfort).

So I'm trying to put those thoughts aside (unsuccessfully, since I'm typing a blog about it) and return to work on my dissertation, on the formation of Narragansett Bay after the North American ice sheet melted back, between 20,000 and 10,000 years ago. With the disappearance of the ice, many things happened, but two stand out: first, the water which had formerly been frozen into the ice, returned to the ocean (where it had originally come from in the form of vapor and then snow), raising sea levels by nearly 400 feet. Second, once the ice left, the weight of the ice sheet no longer pressed down on the earth's crust, or surface, and the surface then rose. Think of a grown man stepping out of a dinghy. Without his weight, the dinghy rises up by several inches in the water. Same thing happened to the entire area (to various degrees) where the ice sheet had once lain.

See, I like writing about science, even in the simplest of terms. I enjoy figuring out a riddle of evidence, and then ordering and describing that riddle so that it's no longer a riddle (I don't particularly enjoy telling riddles). Perhaps it's my fear of theoretical physics (which helped drive me to geology and archeology), but I insist on describing things in the simplest terms I can conceive. And even as Katie and I contemplate the possibility of our unemployment benefits running out, and as we apply for food stamps, perhaps turning back to my scientific riddles is the best way I have through this (aside from pumping iron at the Y and getting hyoooge).

Here birdie, birdie!!!

Be Afraid...Be Very Afraid...

Alright most of you are aware that I'm not exactly an out doorsie kind of girl. I do look back on farm life as a teen fondly for the most part though, and I even feel the urge to institute an annual family camping trip once little Eva or Eliot is old enough! I guess what I'm saying is a bit of my mother HAS rubbed off on me more than I cared to realize, or admit until now!

As Michael and I sometimes tangle ourselves into little tizzies, we've learned what it takes to calm each others nerves ... and luckily similar tricks are usually successful for both of us, the best being taking a nice long stroll through the little neighborhoods in our area. On our walk this evening we FINALLY spotted the bird I've been hearing outside our window for the past few weeks. He usually chirps in the morning after the dew has all evaporated and the sun is starting peek through the trees, and again as it begins to set. I don't often pay much attention to bird calls ... but this one's cheerful, lilting little song creeps into my ears, down my jaw bone and back up through my checks tugging at my lips until they curl into a smile! EVERY TIME he chirps this happens ... I know I'm a buffoon, but this little bird just makes the beginning and end of every day so enjoyable no matter what happened in between! So, as you can imagine finally spotting the little guy tonight on our walk was very gratifying! I was so excited to at last be able to put a face to this pre-tty little voice! Michael being mildly curious as well, promptly googled the description once we arrived home. The photos of a black-headed grosbeak came up and looked exactly like my cheery feathered friend ... but in listening to his call didn't match at all ... not to mention the fact that they live primarily on the west coast. We kept searching to find the Oriole to look very similar as well, but again, the call didn't come close to the distinct smile inducing song I've been hearing. I was slightly bummed until I heard him again at dusk (by that time he's usually in bed) so I rushed outside to listen under the trees outside our window in hopes to get a better glimpse! 

I approached the trees slowly due to the fact that we also have two swans that live in the little lagoon that runs next to our condo, and I didn't want to give the poor things a heart attack. I rattled off a few whistles in hopes my friend would reply, when suddenly to my surprise one of the swans who had been perched on the water's edge got up and began to approach me. I never realized how BIG they were before and was astounded at how eager this one was to make friends! He waddled up very slowly and carefully stopped at about a foot away. I thought about reaching out to touch him momentarily, waited a moment, then ... *hhhoooooaankkk* he shrieked as he took another step closer!!! My now tiny little bladder nearly let loose! He kept coming balking at me clearly pissed I had even thought of disturbing his slumber. He kept coming to ensure I'd get the heck out of there ... flash backs of mornings on the farm dashing up the drive way mad roosters fast on my heels came rushing back and I RAN back inside! Michael greeted me at the door with open arms and trying his damnedest not to giggle. (He had over heard the entire scaring ordeal through one of the open windows!) Dyouchebag!

Conclusion to the day's bird hunt ... still don't know who's singing that lovely morning song ... and swans are JUST AS scary as roosters!!!

Les chats, comme c'est amusant

He even sleeps like a dog!

Mike again.

As time goes on, and Kate and I grow toward each other, certainly some of the little games we play with each other, to differentiate ourselves, will blur a bit like our personalities. But there will always be contrasts...probably our favorite game right now is the cat/dog thing, since she was born in the Chinese year of the tiger (fierce, sly, and solitary), I in the year of the dog (loyal, protective, intolerant of weakness). So I call her bengal, and she calls me pup. And it's a lot of fun to play off that (and it's also a lot of fun to slip into a mythical kind of role).

So right now, I'm ostensibly outnumbered in the household by felines, two to one (4 da record, little EJ is gonna be born in the year of the ox (discreet, hardworking and kind) ). But Jasper really doesn't act like a cat, much of the time. He's kind of a dog. Last summer, when I was still on my own (hadn't even met bengal yet), I'd take off early most mornings for a day of surveying Narragansett Bay. Since Jasper loves going outside, he'd accompany me, and as I walked toward my car, he'd head into the meadow beside the condo and disappear into the tall grass. When I came back home in the late afternoon, he'd either be waiting for me in the parking lot, or else I'd whistle for him and he'd come bounding through the flowers toward me, and would then shadow me all the way back to my front door, where he'd skitter in ahead of me and wait to be fed. The neighbors whose units face the parking lot, and who got to view our little parting and greeting rituals, got a big kick out of the cat that acts like a dog.

This afternoon Katie and I decided to go for a walk. I'd already let the cat out (this being one of thsoe incessant in/out days; gray, ever-so-slightly drizzly, breezeless and kind of warm). We strolled across the parking lot toward the road, and I happened to turn back to look down the driveway, probably to scan for cars. There was the cat, about thirty feet behind, hugging the shrubs, trailing us. We stopped and he trotted up, trotted right past, and then stopped, looking somewhat disoriented. It was kind of hilarious that he was following us so far, and a little worrisome, since Route 1 is a pretty busy road. And it seemed pretty clear that Jasper had never been even this far along the driveway. He was looking around with a slinking, shy demeanor, as if he were afraid of something. So he didn't object when I picked him up and started carrying him back toward the condo. Rather, he stayed sedately in my arms, craning his neck in one direction and another, getting the lay of the land. As we approached the dumpster at the corner of the parking lot, he began fighting to be let go, so I dropped him on the grass, and Katie and I turned around to make one more try.

The cat lay down beneath the pickup and didn't seem to pay us much attention as we walked off. About fifty paces later I looked back, and his eyes were on mine. Bad sign. Thirty paces beyond that, when we'd reached the grass, we turned around to see him trotting across the asphalt toward us. He then broke into a full run, ears back, galloping into the grass and up to us.

Freaking little annoyance. Won't even let us take a walk in peace.

So we decided the only way to solve the problem was to return to the condo, lure him inside, give him and early dinner and then take our walk. We did that, but he remained rooted to the spot when we began walking back. I whistled; he did nothing. So I called, "Jasper, come here," and the little thing broke into a full gallop again and came running back up to us a second time. Soon enough he was inside chowing down, and we were on our merry way (and we managed to get a look at that bird Katie's been trying to identify; but we can't ID it with any references yet. It looks very much like a black-headed grosbeak, but the song and the range are all wrong).

So we come back, and we're both on our laptops, trying to figure out ways to put the a name to the bird we've seen and heard. We failed, but I found a site which had recordings of various birdsongs, and we went through the likeliest candidates (in vain). But the cat was fooled. Formerly dozing on the desk chair, his head popped up and his eyes sprang open wide when he heard the first song. After listening to another minute or so of chirping, he came over to me and began stalking my laptop. First he examined the screen. No bird. He walked around to the back side, and stared. No bird. He examined the sides of the machine, even testing them with his paw. No bird to be found. Frustrated and bored, he gave up on the whole thing.

And that was only one cat! Coming up: Katie vs. the swans...

Something Cute

Mike again.

One of my favorite things--especially since I'm home most mornings right now--is hearing Katie's voice floating downstairs as she sings in the shower. She rarely sings a whole song through, usually just a few passages, and it makes me stop and listen whenever I hear her.

She spent a half-hour looking on the internet for a certain bird by its call, one which sings a little bit of a descending scale in about six chirps. She couldn't find it, but the search is definitely on.

Now Katie took to Jasper very early on. When I first left for Louisiana last fall, and we'd been dating for less than three weeks, she volunteered to look after my plants and the little cat. He charmed her over in no time, of course. Now that she's pregnant, and increasingly showing (don't ask her about the doctor's comments!), the cat has become quite shy of her, and refuses to sit on her belly and chest. She's both touched and a little bit saddened by Jasper's intuition to stay off her midsection.

She has a few terms of her own for him, not the childish sounding "smibbles-little-ibbly" kind of nonsense I come out with. She calls him a dog, because he begs for attention, and food (loves Doritos. Looooooooooves Doritos--but only fresh Doritos). She also called him a chinchilla, since he makes this cute little sound, kind of part-purr, part-light mew. It's like a short purr, with notes. "P-r-r-r-r-r?" in a rising tone, is how it sounds when he approaches, asking for attention.

What it is is, Katie's getting lots of practice in at doting before the kid arrives (and the doctor warned us yesterday that the tech saying she was 70% sure on the sex of a baby, is right next to admitting she had no idea at all).

And I guess since I'm on the topic of the child, I'll mention this. Among other things, the doc said that the amount Katie eats while pregnant will help determine the size of the baby when he or she emerges. Sounds sensible enough. Neither of us were entirely sure how the nutrition and excreting mechanism works, however--to what extent the amniotic fluid, versus the umbilical cord, is the medium. So, me being me, I asked, "I wonder if unborn infants fart." Katie's answer, "If she's your daughter, she does."

Yup. Tagged me fair & square with that one.

Smiles and Frowns

Alright, so Mike has taken over this blog and claimed it for his own it seems! This originally was my second attempt at keeping up with my cyber-hip-sister, which I seem to be failing at once again, this being only my second post! Making this blog more of a family affair I thought might be a stretch, but apparently has taken off as you can see! I tend to have this bad habit of buying a really nice new journal and start it off with a couple of really smashing entries ... you know all poetic and the whole bit. Then after awhile when some good deep thoughts come to mind I let them roll around just long enough to ...  and they just never quite make it to fill the next fresh blank page. My blogging experience has proven to be much the same ... however, I'm determined to turn that around, so bare with me eh?!

Life has been somewhat stressful lately, as you may have gathered from Michael's previous post(s). Although I have my fair share of worries, most of my stress lately has been out of concern for his well being more than anything. I won't mention some of the inane things that keep my mind spinning at times, because compared to Michael's list ... well there simply is no comparison. He takes his responsibilities as a man, husband, and father-to-be with great intensity and proves ever more evident by the day. In one sense, I'm pleased to be seeing this side of him so early on in our relationship. It brings me comfort to know I've chosen to spend my life and raise children with a man who takes on his role so earnestly. On the other hand, I've found myself missing that whimsical, crazy guy who broke song ("If I Only had a Brain") on the yellow brick road in the middle of Dave and Busters on our first date! I do still get glimpses of him from time to time, like tonight when he turned to me pointing at the computer screen, "That was my first cowboy hat!" he gushed with that boyish grin painted across his face! And that's how I know he's feeling good, when he starts talking about cowboy hats and neon clocks! I knew he was still in there ... he's just been buried under a pile of worry for the past few weeks and as it gets bushed away with each new glimmer of hope I'm sure he'll be emerging much more frequently! :-)

It's late now ... and for the first time, I think ever, Mike is upstairs waiting for ME to finish my 2 and a little paragraph post that's taken me an hour to write! So, I'm off ... will do my best to write again soon! Hmm ... photos next time perhaps?!

The Dark Side

Mike again.

Bear with me on this post. While it's fun to write about espresso, and farts, and Snoopy, obviously life isn't a series of light (or even disgusting) jokes. Leave aside thoughts that life itself is some kind of joke. It's an involving thing, being alive. Life is bigger than any of us, and for any of us to live a full and meaningful life, means to call on a wide range of the things we each carry within us--traits, talents, emotions. If I'm willing to be honest about the light stuff like food, drink and passing gas, then I should be honest about the heavier things in my mind as well--the worry, the fear, the uncertainty.

I'm looking for work right now--somewhat desperately--and have been since February, when I was let go from my surveying job. It's not a position I enjoy at all. I have a wife, a daughter on the way, and a mortage that's currently thirteen days overdue, with no way to pay. Unemployment doesn't even cover living expenses outside of the mortgage. This afternoon I'm too despondent to call the unemployment officer about extending benefits--our first cycle finished this week, and to qualify for more, I need to have earned a certain amount within the last two years. Having taken the first six months of last year off to do my dissertation research, I may not qualify. Kate and I could lose both cars and our home.

That's one thing--aside from the ongoing indignity of being denied employment, when I'm smart and diligent enough to do good work for a lot of people--that especially hurts right now. In so many ways, my life right now is spectacularly good. I have a lovely, gentle wife who amazes me every day with her little, sometimes (genuinely) unconscious displays of love. She earns my love and gratitude afresh every time we're together. She's carrying a daughter--well, we're pretty sure it's a daughter--little Eva, named after Eva Cassidy. (And if you haven't heard of her, she's well worth learning about.) We have a condominium which is a magnificent home, just big enough for us (though I need to clean out the nursery), with fun neighbors (who don't mind that we regularly break the no-cats-outdoors rule). I have my little James Bond sports car (yes, image is important to me. But it does also get 30 mpg). We have the makings of a family, something which will define my entire life. I'm looking forward to our future together, Kate's and mine and our children's (because I don't think we'll stop at one).

But the lack of a job...it's like an unplugged drain in the tub, taking the whole bath away. There's hardly a moment of the day--except those when Kate and I connect--when I'm not reminded of my inability to afford our life right now. When I'm not reminded of how I lost my last job, however unfairly, it may seem to me. When I'm not reminded of how, among my two sisters and me, I've managed to spend my share of the family inheritance, on my mortage and school (and maybe a used car or three I didn't really need). I know I created this situation, but it's maddening that all I need is the chance to prove myself with an employer to plug the hole, to complete the perfection (as perfect as any life can be).

Some days--like yesterday, out in the field with my advisor and colleagues, examining some local geology--I'm aggressively depressed, unable to make much conversation, almost paralyzed with fear of the worst that may happen. Some days, like today, I'm so exhausted by the despair that I'm kind of numb. Some days, like Monday, after I'd sent out a raft of job apps to potential federal contractors, and gotten a few responses, I'm feeling almost confident again. That's the range of my emotions right now.

I read news reports--over and over, these days, it seems--about another man who's killed his entire family and himself, usually due to financial ruin. I have no plans for anything but a long, happy life with Kate and our kids, in whatever form that takes--but at moments, I can appreciate the suicides' urge to end their worries. I feel guilty letting myself go to sleep on most nights, feeling I should be searching the web for more employment, doing something, anything other than lying idly on a mattress.

As a teenager, I was briefly suicidal. Long story, kind of melodramatic at this point, but at the end of it, I decided that even though I had no idea why I'd been put on this earth, I knew it wasn't so I'd take myself out of it. That conviction hasn't changed, and there's just too much I enjoy now to take the thought of suicide seriously. But sheer weariness from being worried is a burden, never mind the actual things I'm worried about, like foreclosure, repossession, the shame of bundling all our possessions into a van and stuffing them into some relative's barn while we hide out from creditors. The son of a bank president, facing financial ruin. And that's not even the worst part. The weariness is the worst.

I can identify with the fat white guy in the Kevin Garnett Gatorade commercials. Clever commercial, a kind of exchange between two guys, with very different lots in life, but sharing the same first name (set on the background of Garnett playing ball, and the white guy swimming in a pool):
Fat white: I've never been called the Big Ticket.
Garnett: I've never been handed a pink slip.
Fat white: I've never led the Celtics to an NBA championship.
Garnett: I've never had to tell my wife that we couldn't pay the mortgage.
Fat white: I've never been given the league MVP.
Garnett: I've never used a backstroke...as a coping mechanism.

I don't do the backstroke, but my workouts at the Y are no different. That commercial nearly makes me cry at times.

That's how it's going right now. Most of the times, I'm too scared to hope. With every day of no response from possible employers, my dread grows.

Kate and I can still enjoy so much together--our morning coffee, now that she's hooked, an afternoon walk, a stroll along the beach, or any other number of moments--but not long after, the sense of the open pool drain returns, sucking all the water down. I'm constantly reminded that I have no job. I can hope, and I do...but at moments, the hope is dim, and doesn't seem like enough.

*glub glub glub* *ssnniffffffff* MMMMMMmmmm...

(Mike here.)

That's my morning gig, most days--a steaming cup of espresso, the caffeinated equivalent of Jack Daniels. I drink my regular coffee with tons of sugar and cream--exactly the way my mother drank it (I learned it by drinking hers as a toddler), and my cousin Drew (his mother contemptuously calls it ice cream) and, most pleasantly of all, my own Katie. We go through lots of sugar. Sundays, like for most folks, is our lazy breakfast day, and we'll make something that involves maple syrup. I have a few different types of pancake mix in the pantry, and one of them, this really rich apple & cinnamon mix, requires eggs. So a week ago, I open the fridge, but find no eggs.

Oh, well, plan B it is: Bisquick, needing only water. (If you butter the pancakes as soon as they're off the griddle, and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on 'em, they're plenty sweet regardless.) So, no eggs, no problem. But when I'd ground the beans, and Katie came down and started boiling the water, I looked for the sugar, there was none to be found. "Back in ten, babe!" and I was out the door.

Some things just can't be overlooked.

But I drink my espresso neat: dark, strong, and occasionally bitter. I blame Iron Man. I thought the film rocked, I loved seeing Robert Downey Jr. get back on track and doing something with his tremendous talent, I love special effects films, and I just adored the sleekness of Tony Stark's life. Since I lack the multimillion-dollar California coast mansion, the billion-dollar income, the worldwide status as a genius, the stable full of sports cars (heck, my lousy little Z3 is 11 years old and it's only a four-cylinder) and the voice-activated holographic computer, I figured I could go with drinking espresso.

Yes, I really am that susceptible. But I think living well partly means keeping the child in me alive, you know? (I even went with the goatee for a while. Katie likes it, but let's just say, it's not a hygienic choice when you have a cold.)

Most mornings I'm up a few hours before Katie, who luxuriates like any feline in her sleeping spot (though the dudes working on the roof right now--at all of half past seven--might be making that a bit difficult for her. They're directly overhead our unit). So I grind enough beans for my cup of hi-test, as well as the French press of regular we'll share later on, and get to reviewing the morning's news. (This includes poring over the New York sports pages when the Yankees lose, or even when they win but one of their pitchers stinks it up, like Joba kind of did last night. At least Beckett and Pap held it together for Boston.) So I get my morning blast of info, a dose of caffeine, and a bit of comic fantasy before getting on with the day in earnest (which these days amounts to reading, and looking online for jobs).

Katie didn't drink much coffee before, anyway, but the pregnancy has brought, along with all its other changes, recurrent headaches, sometimes rising to the level of migraines. The doctor prescribed a bizarre pill combining Tylenol, caffeine, and some other drug, but when Katie found online testimony that it can be addictive to both mother and baby, she dropped it (especially after it left her feeling a little high, and also seemed to precipitate an even worse headache the following day). So Kate's mother--ever the genius of common sense, as mothers are--suggested forgetting the pills (Tylenol does nothing for Katie anyway), and getting the caffeine through a regular cup of coffee.

Presto! Taught her how to grind the beans and use the press, and now she's a regular coffeeholic like I am. Welcome to the club, bengal!

Excuuuuse you, Mr. Sutherland!

Hmm ... yes, so sharing a house, bed, and bank account with someone is one thing. Sharing a BLOG however is proving to be the most interesting of all thus far in my marriage to Michael! As I sat down just now to read Mike's latest post (trading spots on the couch) I was pleasantly surprised at how warm, almost HOT the cushion was where he had been sitting! Of course I commented on it's loveliness ... and bounding away, with almost a skip in his step Mike asks, "wanna know why"? I could tell by the shit eating grin on his face EXACTLY why. And although the thought of how many "satisfactions" it took to warm this spot did cross my mind with some disgust ... warm is warm, right ladies?! Okay, so maybe now I'm the gross one, so be it.

*uuuuurp*

Mike again. If I'm posting a lot that's not a good thing, because it means I have lots of time on my hands. For a guy who has a mortgage to pay and is completing a PhD, it means a monkey wrench or thirty are in the works.

So, yeah, another blog entry.

Katie and I are getting used to each other in all the little ways, including working to find the humor in the little funny remarks each of us might make which seemed oh-so-funny before we actually said it...if that makes any sense. You know, those little offhand jokes that seem like a riot in your mind, but then fall just a little flat when you actually make them? Yeah. So we're sort of finding out the nooks & crannies of each other's senses of humor.

Especially since humor comes with its grain of truth. I grew up reading Peanuts, and though I always found Charlie Brown a little lame, and Schroeder a dweeb (did you know that Charles Schultz actually drew Beethoven's music in the bars of those comic panels when Schroeder played?), and Lucy reminded me uncomfortably of my older sister Lisa, I had two main points of contact with that comic. First, Snoopy had a great imaginative life. (Snoopy's also the coolest cartoon character of all time, but that's a topic for another time.) I had plenty of alter-egoes for my solitary moments--still do, actually--but none was cooler than the World War I Flying Ace. I grew up thinking that real men drink root beer from a foam-topped mug, at a table covered with red checkered cloth, in a tiny cafe in France. The second point of contact was Linus' blanket.

Yes, I had a security blanket. I did all the usual disgusting things you might expect a child to do with it: chew it, stick it in my ear, and occasionally in my nose. So I could understand Linus' gig (though I don't remember ever sucking my thumb). Well, now I'm a grown man, and I do carry around a handkerchief, which comes in handy during allergy season...and I realized that I still have my security blanket. Damn it all.

So I was explaining this thing to Katie on the way back from the gym (she's getting some tonus in her upper arms! I'll turn that girl into a gym rat yet), while we stopped for some groceries (the local supermarket offers free coffee to shoppers, so I ALWAYS stop). I told her how the blankie was comforting, and even now, it's kind of the same way. Out of boredom I'll blow my nose when I don't really have to. That's as inane as it gets, of course, but it's no different from sticking a stupid piece of cloth in my ear as a three-year-old. Not quite a nervous tic, but just a satisfying ritual.

Which brought us to the matter of more basic functions...Katie has, like just about every woman with the man she lives with, learned to tolerate with some amusement, all the burping and farting I do. She's still marvellously discreet, and always will be. But she accepts that a man being uninhibited about that kind of thing is a genuine statement of trust and intimacy. So when I told her that a good belch is similarly satisfying, a kind of reminder that I'm healthy and robust...she looked at me a little strangely. "How could something so rude and offensive and basically disgusting, be satisfying?" her look seemed to ask.

Beats me. I've read some anthropology-type stuff about it, how bodily functions approximate the creative process...I don't disagree, but I guess I just haven't really embraced the idea yet.

Whatever, doesn't change that Katie has to get used to me. (It's easier now with the warm weather. We can leave the windows open.)

*yawn* *strettch*

Mike here. Not sure how often I'll be posting, as opposed to Katie who's much more of a serial blogger. Her facebook page is way bigger than mine, for example. Tons of photos.

Anyhow, got home not long ago from Wednesday night Civic Chorale rehearsal. (Right now I'm kind of ticking Katie off by interfering with her resume' writing.) The Chorale's working on Mozart's mass in C minor, which is gorgeous overall, though I still find plenty of passages confusing, and this blasted asthma makes some passages nearly impossible. But unlike some other masses, the tenor part isn't impossibly high so I don't need to rely much on falsetto. Always satisfying to get a good rip at a loud sustained G now & then. But then those runs of eighth & sixteenth notes...yeah. I've got some studying to do.

Katie's come through mightily for dinner tonight. While watching the Celts crush the Magic (under my tutelage she's gone from being an indifferent basketball fan to an occasionally rabid one), she made my garlic & shrimp pizza and had it ready for me when I got home...I've got to say, this wife thing is a pretty good invention. So far so good... (She's also testing her supposed allergy to shrimp. She had one about a half-hour ago, and we're waiting for any reaction. Maybe she'll be covered in spots tomorrow...we'll see!)

We can amuse each other, which is a big deal because this has been one of the most stressful periods of my life. I'm looking desperately for work, and I bounce between feelings of confidence that something will come our way, and despair that nothing at all will. Kind of a drag that a test like this has to occur within the first months of our marriage, but it'll keep things to come in perspective! And I can tell friends about our situation honestly--like talking to Ed's wife Diana tonight before rehearsal, and being frank about hoping not to lose one or both cars, or the condo--and it's a good, relaxed conversation. Obviously people accept the reality of financial difficulties right now, and I generally feel relieved by not trying to hide the basic facts of our situation.

Which is all well and good, but I still need a freaking job. At my most angry and frustrated, I just want to be given a chance. One fair chance to prove myself. We'll see. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the rest of Katie's garlic & shrimp (try it!) pizza.

Ever Growing ...

To those who are not aware, I'm now nearly 20 weeks pregnant. The days have begun to feel longer as my stomach slowly expands. Thank goodness the actual feeling of carrying a child doesn't hit until you're already halfway done, other wise I'm not sure any of us would get through it! It's a strange sensation to have this appendage suddenly appear ... making simple things like walking, getting out of bed, and tying your shoes a true task! It's all those little thumps and flutters that come from within that keep all this new "work" in perspective! Needless to say, the fact that someone is growing inside me is never far from my thoughts, and knowing we can't meet for another 4 months or so makes each day pass slower than the one before it.

I'm looking into some part time summer work now, which just might help keep my mind occupied for the next few months, as a college/career coach with local Deaf juniors and seniors at the RI School f/t Deaf. I've worked with some of them already throughout the school year and have gotten a sense of their eagerness to learn about what the world has to offer outside of our little Ocean State! I will find out more about the position next week, and get a better idea if I stand a chance of landing it, and will of course share my findings with you all then! 

Michael is also in the limbo stage of the job process, still waiting on word from one or both of the positions he interviewed for last week. He left both interviews with a positive vibe from the employers ... so now we just have to wait and see if either of the two will turn out to be a home run!

Seems like there are just so many "wait and sees" lately, between jobs and babies ... both of us are truly having our patience put to the test!